Jacquelyn Shah

Zookering

Transparent, the wrath was transparent. And, seeing through its glass bottom proved that acute prevarication was more advanced than had previously been thought. I took a color from the box, crayoned over the small zen square in the lower right corner, happily zookering what I knew to be uninteresting to the uninitiated. I was right; no one gave it a second glance. It was all mine, mine however small, all mine, making me happy. The vein open, variations spreading through prevarication infusing the undergrowth of wrath with a lavender wealth of dice, I lay in the zen circle, feet crossing into the square. I sucked on the wrath lines, making my mouth all red as though I had eaten paan. Feline-free & unfamous, I lolled & livered my way to outlandish outbacks, firming up the loose flesh of underplumps, packing an already bulging valise for a trip to everland, where someone, to be sure, was waiting, open-armed, wonder-bound, eager & ebullient. Has-beens flocked to the dice as I zookered more. And more, I can promise eventuality, the more free-spree from red this venture yields––ha ha to robust you & you.

Tongue on the Cusp

Lies   all lies   you can bet on it

Could it be otherwise?

The language is not mine

I have what?  a tongue

unless le chat has it   or la bête noire—

noire  noire  avoir parole

la langue—qu’est-ce que c’est?

la plume de mon oncle   mon oncle

on my ankle  bête noire biting

my heel  achilles willies!

How could they? those goosesteppers

gagging my project––Foie Gras

of Mother Goose   Ommmmm

of omigod   My ears are plugged  

Ommmmmmm   my langue sags  

but voices won’t stop 

wailing   I never fail to hear 

Drown hydra drown   Let me sit

in knotty silence   a little désœuvré

contemplate the Derrida

of someone’s derrière

for just an hour or so . . . until 

my rouge mouth begins belissimo

avec un sourire, O bridadier

to tongue the cusp again

and sing a song of serpent-kin

Tournament of Peppermint

On a sunny day they were gathered together,

peppermint sticks & their patties, to pepper & cheer.

Who could deploy their pepper farthest  highest  deepest?

Would peppermint be sediment,

would patties let their sentiments & dazzlements

help sink the evolutionary experiment?

Up up up in the air air air,

down down to the ground went the pepper.

Hurrah! Hurrah! went the patties.

And no one went guffaw.

Pepper rules! screamed peppermint fans,

all spearing-mints themselves & pretty self-contained & cool.

Deft legendary sticks went bounding––

leaps & super-califragilistic expi-expi-alitoe-shoes,

jeté jeté & allongé & even grand jeté, all the way . . . Plié?

No, not legends, they’re all stiff (legged & necked

& you-know-what & only bent, hell-absolutely-bent

on peppering). Extermination was a word

that no one spoke since everyone was confident

their firmament was meant to last.

Content to rest upon admit-nots, no impediment

to lastingness of peppermint could be envisioned.

So communities of mints all did their things––

deployments  cheering  peppering  more peppering

with opulence & vehemence & even more.

So it went, all the way to the first moment

of coughing, till choking was the rule.

And all the mints grandiloquent, impertinent,

misspent their last event on earth

as apocalypse and torment superseded tournament.

Quartrains on the Letter Q

If they call you Quirky claim it

                                    with a capital Q––

let kinks rise and fall like cunning suns

     that gauge the usefulness of heat and light.

If they say you’re Quixotic claim it

                                    with a capital Q––

flights, woolgathering, and amoks

     are the weave of your psychic tweed.

If they sense your Quiddity proclaim

                                    it has a capital Q––    

for nymphs and elves and sprites are given space

     to caper beneath your lid.

 And let them know your Quodlibet

                                    with a capital Q

is always playing in your heart,

     where passions ride its zither strings.

To name yourself as Queer, make sure

                                     it’s with a Q

that’s capital as well as casual,

     imperturbable and apt,

since old adverse flickers of the word

                                    have lost themselves

in genial sequins.  Word of former ill repute,

     it can comfort you in any Quagmire.

You cherish what you’ve always claimed––

                                    the letter Q

that lives so quietly within your given name,

     ten-pointer in the famous Scrabble game.